


Days in December

by theangryuniverse



Series: Days in... [3]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Love Confessions, M/M, No Smut, at least not this time, saying i love you for the first time, surprise visit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-23
Updated: 2018-11-23
Packaged: 2019-08-28 06:12:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16717899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theangryuniverse/pseuds/theangryuniverse
Summary: “You could just tell me you love me back, you know.”Otabek shifted awkwardly from foot to foot, his hands buried deep in his pockets, a gentle frown on his forehead as he looked at the man in front of him. On the outside, he was his cool, usual self, but on the inside, his stomach was twisting and turning like crazy, and his heart felt as if stuck in a vice, the grip around it becoming firmer and tighter with every second that passed.But Yuri remained silent.





	Days in December

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MissMarquin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissMarquin/gifts).



> My "Days In..." stories follow no linear timeline, so this could be ANY December in any year. This is NOT happening 1 month before "Days in January".
> 
> It is also shorter than the other two, but I hope you like it nonetheless.

“You could just tell me you love me back, you know.”

Otabek shifted awkwardly from foot to foot, his hands buried deep in his pockets, a gentle frown on his forehead as he looked at the man in front of him. On the outside, he was his cool, usual self, but on the inside, his stomach was twisting and turning like crazy, and his heart felt as if stuck in a vice, the grip around it becoming firmer and tighter with every second that passed.

It was cold in Moscow, but the weather did not bother Otabek as he stood outside of the skating hall, ignoring the snow storm around them. Yes, waiting for Yuri inside would have been a lot warmer, but then again, it was an ice-skating hall, so what exactly was the difference? And besides, the fresh, cold air helped Otabek to keep a clear head, to stay focused on what he was determined to do, what he wanted to say. Oh, he had practised these words over and over again in his head, and even out loud, in his apartment, in the restroom of the plane, in his hotel bathroom while taking a shower. Now the time had come to say them to the person they were meant for. And surprisingly, the words had come out smoothly, without hesitation. But what was lacking was an answer, and Otabek could not help but begin to worry if he had misinterpreted the last few years.

The looks, the touches, the phone calls. The text messages in the middle of the night, the comments on his Instagram, the brief voicemails.

_“I love you, Yuri Plisetsky. And I would like to be your boyfriend.”_

The words hung in the air between them, and since then, Yuri had not found his voice again. He stared at Otabek, his face paler than ever before, his eyes wide, the hand clutching his gym bag shaking lightly.

He was no longer the lanky teenager he had once been, Otabek noted as he took a closer look at him. Back then in Barcelona, he had been this angry fifteen-year-old with the eyes of a soldier and the strength and determination of a predator. Now he was an adult, taller than Otabek, still way too skinny for his own good, and heavenly turquoise eyes that no one could ever escape. At least not Otabek. Said eyes were now wide and filled with what Otabek could not define, perhaps a mixture of surprise and terror.

Not exactly the best combination in a situation like that, he thought.

“You… are here,” Yuri whispered, clutching his bag tighter.

Otabek frowned a little. It was true, he had not told Yuri that he was coming to Moscow, as he had wanted to surprise him, but it seemed that his attempt had successfully backfired.

The Kazakh exhaled deeply. “I came without a warning, yes,” he said and straightened his shoulders. “Perhaps I should go and le-“

The weight of Yuri as he threw himself into his arms almost knocked him over. Otabek stumbled backwards, wrapping his arms instinctively around him as he tried to process what was happening, but a deep, heartbreaking sob had him freeze on the spot.

“I’m so fucking glad you’re here, Beka,” Yuri breathed into his shoulder. “This was the worst day of my whole fucking life.”

Otabek blinked in confusion, holding Yuri tight as he let him sob. It wasn’t news to him that Yuri was the emotional one of the two, but usually, there were only the extremes of extreme happiness or pure rage to be found when it came to Yuri Plisetsky. But this time, he got to witness a mental breakdown, and the streets of Moscow were certainly not the right place for that.

“God, Yuri,” Otabek murmured and pulled away from him a little to look at him, grabbing his arms. “Let’s talk about this, then, yeah.” He put an arm around him, gently pushing him towards the doors of the skating hall again, where it would be at least warm and a little more private at this time of the day.

The last thing they needed now was an audience.

Only then Otabek noticed that Yuri was limping a little, barely noticeable to a stranger, but it was definitely there.

“Yuri, what did you do to your ankle?” Otabek asked as he pushed the doors open and pulled Yuri over to a bunch of armchairs in the foyer.

“Sprained it,” Yuri muttered, flopping down into one of the armchairs.

“How the hell did you sprain your ankle?” Otabek asked in surprise. Yuri was the last person who would sprain an ankle during training. He was a professional, not a beginner, he knew all the moves, the right posture.

Yuri looked away.

“Yura.”

Otabek pulled the armchair closer to Yuri’s, sitting so close to him that their foreheads were almost touching. “Don’t try to fool me.”

“I’m not,” Yuri muttered, biting his lower lip. “I… I tripped, okay? I was trying the triple axel last night but I didn’t land right and fucking sprained it, so what. No need for my grandfather to yell at me like he did.”

Otabek looked up. Yuri’s grandfather was probably the most patient person he had ever met, always putting up with Yuri’s antics, never raising his voice.

“Yuri, I’m sure that Nikolai did not yell at you for spraining your ankle,” Otabek said calmly, and once more, Yuri refused to meet his gaze.

“Damn right, he didn’t.” Yakov had appeared in the foyer, ready to leave, carrying his bag in his left hand. Otabek raised his head, greeting Yuri’s coach with a nod that Yakov acknowledged with a nod in return. “Maybe you can get some sense into him, Altin. He was on the ice for eighteen hours. _Eighteen_.”

Otabek stared at Yakov, then at Yuri, who was staring at his feet.

“Anyway,” Yakov said, clearing his throat as he approached the exit. “I’m done for this week. Don’t get back to this rink until your ankle has healed, Yuri.”

And with that, he was gone.

The silence that followed between them could have been easily cut with a knife. Otabek sighed, leaning back in the armchair as he rubbed his face. Now this was certainly not the reason he had come to Moscow today. The last thing he wanted to do today was to give Yuri a lecture about the dangers of going on the ice whilst being tired or unfocused.

“Yuri, are you insane?” He asked eventually, knowing they wouldn’t get anywhere by saying nothing at all.

Yuri crossed his arms, still not meeting his gaze. “I was fine.”

“Obviously you were not,” Otabek replied. “Working out for eighteen hours is dangerous, Yura.”

“I was skating, not working out.”

“That _is_ a work out, Yura,” Otabek groaned, rubbing his eyes. “Just because we do this everyday it does not mean it gets less dangerous to our bodies. And why were you on the ice for eighteen hours anyway?”

Yuri tossed his phone into Otabek’s lap. “See for yourself,” he muttered, almost curling up on his seat.

Otabek frowned, taking the phone and unlocking it. “What exactly am I supposed to…” He trailed off as he realised that Yuri had been watching a video, a private recording posted by Yuuri Katsuki, filming Victor Nikiforov practise his latest programme. Otabek tapped the video, watching it for half a minute only. He did not need more than that to see what had upset Yuri.

Victor Nikiforov was a god.

Otabek locked the phone again and put it down on the table next to them.

“Okay, Nikiforov has a new programme that could break all records, but I don’t see why he’d be worth losing a leg for.”

“Don’t you see?!” Yuri barked at him, and oh, there it was again, his infamous rage. But this time, there were also tears rolling down his cheeks. “The idiot is almost thirty and doing THAT?! How the fuck am I supposed to win against that?!”

Otabek grabbed his shoulders. “For fuck’s sake, just pull yourself together, Yuri!”, he said firmly. “You’ve never spoken of yourself like that. Care to tell me what else happened that you suddenly think you have to risk your limbs for victory? Because I know there must be more to that than just a stupid video.” Otabek moved closer to Yuri, resting his hands on his lower arms. “Did something happen at university? Did you fail the course?”

“No.”

“Did you… meet someone?”

“No.”

“Is everything okay at home? With your grandfather?”

Yuri sniffed, looking away.

Otabek grasped his hands. “Yura? What’s wrong with Nikolai?”

There was only one person that Yuri would ever consider family, and that was his grandfather. The man had raised him and had looked after him when his mother hadn’t bothered to do so, and Otabek knew that Nikolai was the most important person in Yuri’s life. Nothing ever greatly upset Yuri, but the few things that did were usually the most serious ones.

“He’s…” Yuri murmured, swallowing thickly. “He’s not feeling that well these days. We’re still waiting for the results from the hospital but nothing has come in the mail so far and I just can’t stand staying in that house while we wait and wait and wait and…”

Otabek sighed and pulled Yuri into a hug, not saying a word as Yuri seemed to finally give in. It was quiet in the foyer except for the soft, barely audible sobs coming from Yuri, staining his winter coat, but Otabek could not have cared less. He had not known any of this.

“Why didn’t you call me, Yura?” Otabek asked softly, resting his chin on top of Yuri’s head. “To talk things through?”

“Don’t know,” Yuri sniffed, burying his hands in the fabric of Otabek’s coat. “You were busy, and I saw on Instagram that you were meeting up with your sister so I didn’t want to disturb you.”

“I always have time for you, Yura,” Otabek said, pulling away a little. Yuri was still crying, his eyes and cheeks reddened from all the drama, but he seemed calmer again. “Next time you’re upset, call me, and don’t torture yourself on the ice until your neck snaps, okay?”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a paper handkerchief for Yuri, watching him wordlessly as he dried his tears. A crying Yuri was not a pleasant sight, and a rare one, too. An angry Yuri, yes, that he could deal with easily. But a crying Yuri? A sad Yuri? A devastated Yuri?

Sometimes Otabek wondered if one needed a special training to deal with people like Yuri.

“I thought you’d yell at me, too,” Yuri muttered, finally meeting his gaze.

“Since when has yelling ever worked on you?” Otabek replied with a small smile. “I’m surprised that Yakov still got his voice.” He glanced at his watch. “Let’s go and grab something to eat, ok?”

Yuri nodded, slowly rising from the armchair, picking up his bag and phone. Otabek waited until he was ready to go, then made his way over to the exit, bracing himself mentally for the cold.

“Beka.”

“Yeah?” Otabek turned around, his hand resting on the door handle. Yuri was still standing by the armchairs, carrying his bag over his shoulder, shifting uncomfortably on the spot.

“What you said earlier, outside,” Yuri said, blushing deeply. “You meant it?”

Otabek let go of the door again and let it fall shut, suddenly remembering the reason why he had come to Moscow in the first place. Right. Telling Yuri what he felt. That had been his initial plan.

“I did,” he said, stuffing his hands into his pockets again.

“Could you say it again?”

Otabek frowned a little, but one look at Yuri was enough to tell him that this was what Yuri needed now, no matter the outcome, regardless of that he felt.

“I love you, Yuri Plisetsky,” Otabek said calmly, although his heart was racing in his chest as if he had been running a marathon. “And I would like to be your boyfriend.”

For a moment, Yuri’s face seemed like a mask, the façade that he showed to the world whenever there were cameras around, making sure that no one ever thought that Yuri Plisetsky was a human being with feelings. But then, it softened, revealing the person that he was in private, lively and passionate and surprisingly tender.

“I love you too,” he said and walked over to Otabek slowly, careful of his sprained ankle. “And I’d really like to be your boyfriend.”

It was now Otabek’s turn to blush, but he was not embarrassed by it. Instead, his heart skipped a joyful beat as Yuri slipped his pale hand into Otabek’s, linking their fingers.

“That’s good to know,” Otabek said.

Yuri smirked. “I thought you already knew.”

“I thought I’d better ask first before assuming things.”

“Ask no more.” Yuri leant forward and pressed a short, innocent kiss to the corner of Otabek’s mouth. “Where are we going for dinner, then?”

Otabek blinked in surprise at the sudden display of affection, not having expected a kiss from Yuri immediately. Let alone in public.

“Beka?” Yuri asked, frowning again. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Otabek said quickly, shaking his head. “Just…” He looked down at their joined hands. “This is Russia. I don’t know if you’re aware of-“

“I am,” Yuri interrupted him, leaning against the door and his grasp on Otabek’s hand tightened. “But do I look as if I gave a single fuck?”

There he was again, the Yuri that did not give a shit. The Yuri that he loved.

“Then I don’t care either,” Otabek said.

Yuri grinned.

And so, they left the skating hall, their fingers closely intertwined as they stepped out into the night, and into the storm.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Tell me what you think!


End file.
